Truth or Dare

Lesson 6: Breaking Point

When I woke up, I found myself staring at the dimly lit ceiling of my room, the familiar cracks tracing patterns I'd memorized long ago. But something felt off. My mind was a foggy mess, struggling to piece together the events of the night before. I could barely remember coming home, let alone how I'd ended up in bed. It felt like I'd drifted through a nightmare, half-awake, and now I was back here—safe, maybe, but disoriented and with an unsettling emptiness gnawing at me.

But one thing was crystal clear: I'd gone to look for Akioo. The basement. The shadows. The game. My body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and something darker that I couldn't quite name. I pushed myself up slowly, wincing as a dull ache pulsed through my arms and shoulders, a reminder of last night's confrontation. The memory of that strange girl's mocking smile, her words about how the game would change me, echoed in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine. I looked around my room, hoping for some kind of clue, something that could explain how I'd gotten back here.

My phone lay on the nightstand, untouched, and I grabbed it, checking for any messages. Nothing. I scrolled through my recent calls—no outgoing or incoming calls, no signs of anyone reaching out. Just as I put the phone back down, a light tapping sound echoed from somewhere outside my room. I froze, my heartbeat spiking. For a second, I thought it might be someone from the game. But as I strained to listen, I realized it was coming from my window.

I hesitated, then slowly got up and approached the window, the floorboards creaking beneath me. When I pulled back the curtain, my breath caught—it was Mia, standing outside on the fire escape, her expression tense and urgent. I unlocked the window and slid it open.

"Mia?" I whispered, half in relief, half in surprise. "Rose," she replied, her voice hushed but filled with urgency. "You need to come with me. Now." My mind was still clouded, but her words sliced through the fog.

"Mia, what happened? I don't remember... I don't remember coming home last night." "That's exactly why I'm here," she replied, her gaze hardening. "We found Akioo. And you're not going to believe what we saw." Her words hit me like a shock of cold water. I nodded, grabbing a jacket from my chair and throwing it on.

"Let's go." We climbed down the fire escape, slipping through the morning's shadows until we reached the alley. Mia's silence only added to the gnawing fear that had settled in my gut. She led me toward the school, where a small group had already gathered near the gym's back entrance whıch ıs blınd spot. I spotted Rolan, Felix, and Josh, their faces ashen, each wearing the same haunted expression. As soon as they noticed me, the group shifted, exchanging looks that made my skin crawl.

Felix took a step forward, his voice low. "Rose... you were the last one to see him, weren't you?" I could only nod. My memory was still fractured, but pieces started to fall into place. The dark basement. The footsteps. The feeling of something watching me. And then—nothing. A complete blank. "Come on," Rolan said, nodding toward the gym. "You need to see this." The inside of the gym was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes every footstep sound like a gunshot. As we moved deeper into the room,My eyes shifted slowly upward, a cold shiver running down my spine as I took in the impossible sight. Hanging from the ceiling by thick, fraying ropes, Akioo's mutilated body was suspended in the air like a grotesque marionette. His limbs—arms, legs—were severed at the joints, and there was no mistaking the raw, jagged stumps where they had been torn away. The cuts were brutal, surgical, as though made with precision, yet they were far from clean. The edges of his flesh were ragged, the skin pulled taut in places, revealing the raw muscle underneath, still fresh with the trauma of the dismemberment.

His torso, however, remained intact, but it had been stitched back together in a crude and twisted reconstruction. The thread that bound his limbs to his body was thick, dark, and uneven, crude stitches that pulled the skin too tight in some areas, causing puckers and folds as though the fabric of his body had been hastily sewn up by someone who barely understood what they were doing. There was no smooth, even seam here—just ugly, visible scars that glinted under the harsh gym lights.